


The Way You Looked Back Then (Was Pathetic)

by gruellingcruel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Blood and Violence, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Enemies to Lovers, Engineer Armitage Hux, First Order Poe Dameron, Flirting, He's Just Lonely Okay, M/M, Manipulation, POV Poe Dameron, Resistance Member Armitage Hux, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29275920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gruellingcruel/pseuds/gruellingcruel
Summary: The best pilot in the First Order finds himself briefly stranded, on a backwater moon, with a snarky yet otherwise unremarkable rebel.Or, rather, someone who’s spentyearsliving as though they were just an unremarkable rebel.It’s a shame he’s got such a good memory.A shame for Armitage Hux, that is.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	The Way You Looked Back Then (Was Pathetic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When life hands you the long lost son of a general, you use every trick in the book to get them back where they belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know how to spell Poe, it’s like that on purpose. It might be stupid, but I’m doing it :P
> 
> Also, bear in mind this Poe has been raised in the FO.  
> He’s had no parents, no Leia, no friends, and quite possibly worst of all- _no sweet little BB8._  
>  It's left him a _little_ starved of attention. And evil, I guess.

♢

The lieutenant explains the mission to him with the same level of enthusiasm he imagines she holds towards being sent for reconditioning. 

Apparently, holed up on a grassy moon in some backwater quadrant, a group of rebels are covertly building a prototype of anti-TIE grounded weaponry. 

They’d managed to intercept numerous comms regarding deliveries being made to the planetoid. Deliveries containing scores of light missiles, and a jumble of mechanical bits and pieces, the descriptions of which were lost on him. 

Bits and pieces with which a talented engineer could craft a machine capable of threatening the peace the First Order has brought to planets across the galaxy.

Or so the lieutenant had said.

Po had tuned her out after that, looking out into the hangar at where the rest of his squad were waiting, at attention, for him to lead them on a mission none of them would survive. 

None but Po. 

“Captain, are you listening to me?” Po returns his gaze to the lieutenant, regarding the woman, taking in her already irritated expression. Deciding he may as well try.

“Can I request to take this mission alone?” He asks, confident, “No offense, but this squad is even worse than the last. They’re _definitely_ all going to die.” 

The lieutenant is at a loss for words for a moment, “But- The rebels are specifically building anti-TIE weaponry. This is a reconnaissance mission, as well as an attack, of course. But our main goal is reconnaissance.” She shifts, uncomfortable, “We want the data from the squad's attempts. Only then do we want _you_ to take out the weapon.” 

_Oh,_ so their deaths had already been accounted for, then. 

This particular squad was _purposefully_ full of untalented cannon fodder- so they could assess the capabilities of the new technology the rebels were building. 

Po nods, “Alright, then- but don’t blame me if all the data you get is how long it took for them to crash right into the ground after they broke atmo.” The lieutenant’s face pinches like Po said something distasteful, like she hadn't just asked him to lead an entire squad on a suicide mission, and he rolls his eyes.

Being the best pilot in the First Order was a lonely business. It seemed like every single other pilot he’d ever worked with had had a deathwish. 

And not the fun kind, not the kind that meant daring maneuvers and getting by by the skin of your teeth. 

The boring kind, the kind that meant flying in a straight line right into enemy fire, or right into a cliff, or right into a tree, sometimes they’d even fly right into each-other. 

That was always _especially_ irritating. 

Po turns away from the lieutenant, sick of looking at her, grumbling, “Just give me the coordinates, and I’ll get you your data.”

♢

Po is flying lazy loops in the upper atmosphere of the planetoid, watching as his squad gets torn to pieces, circling like a carrion bird. 

He takes stock of the area, may as well occupy his time productively while he's waiting for them to die. 

The missile turret is built into a grassy verge above an immense lake. A little ways behind it, there's a single nondescript building, tucked into the hillside innocently.

He assumes it's the command centre, where the rebels operating the turret are holed up. Probably also where they constructed the damn thing, knowing the chaotic way rebels operate. 

Since he's already looking at the building, he gets a good view as one of his squad, clipped on the wing by a missile, partially explodes and careens right into it. 

Exploding again upon impact, of course. 

Po looks on in disappointment, and idly hopes the data is worth it. 

After a moment, the turret continues to operate as before, so the rebels inside the building can't have been too shaken by the experience. 

_What a waste._

The squad has actually lasted longer than he’d been expecting them to, some of them clearly remembering to take evasive action in the face of a missile. 

But eventually, they’re no match for the quick volleys of the turret, and simply unable to get a good shot in on the sturdy machine. And with each loss, their ruined debris scattered over grass and water, it only becomes easier to pick them off. 

Until only Po is left.

He watches as the turret’s snout swivels smoothly to face the direction of his ship- and he’s flushed with adrenaline. 

He drops sharply into the lower atmosphere as the first missile is launched, whipping his ship to the side just as it reaches him to let it pass harmlessly on by. Another missile is already closing in as he rights his ship. Quickly turning, he gets it in his sights, shoots at it, and sails through the fiery remains easily. A third missile is waiting for him on the other side, however, and this one nearly connects with his wing, but he just about manages to twitch out of the way and it misses by a hair. 

Po laughs aloud, delighted by the challenge, his blood thrumming. 

Turning to zip out high over the air of the lake, he makes a sharp turn until he comes to face the turret straight on, another volley of missiles heading right for him. Po soars towards them, and then cuts his engine, dropping down sharply, losing height faster than he could ever have achieved manually.

Leaving the missiles to simply soar high above his ship harmlessly, as he flicks the power back on. 

He takes aim on the turret, leaning forward as his targeting system chimes out it’s readiness. 

"Gotcha." He gloats, as he fires his entire charge directly into the machine. 

The fireball thrown up in the wake of the turret exploding is _much_ bigger than he anticipated it being- and for a moment he looks on, delighted, at the fierce sight, before he suddenly remembers what’s coming next. 

The shockwave that hits his TIE has his usually silent astromech screeching eerily, but Po is too busy trying to stop them being turned into a ball of slag to worry about it for long. 

His ship is on the blink, majorly. Incapable of giving significant thrust, his astromech hasn’t come back online. 

Po remains calm, this is no time to lose his head. 

He steers his ship back out over the water of the lake, estimating the approximate speed he needs to reach to achieve his goal. He circles the water a few times, losing speed as he goes, until he finally turns, at the furthest edge of the lake, heading straight for the opposite shore. 

He nudges his ship lower and lower, until the base of his wings only just dip into the water, the ship lurching once he manages it- but he counters with a pull on the steering and keeps it steady. Losing speed significantly as the water drags over his wings, he maintains that height, in complete control, until his ship coasts gently to a stop. 

Resting upon its wings, in the shallows at the opposite shore of the lake. 

He breathes out, and laughs to himself as he unbuckles, before jumping out of his ship to assess the damage. The muddy water he drops into reaches his calves, but his flight suit is completely waterproof, so he doesn’t really care. 

Walking around his machine once, he doesn't note any significant damage. He moves back between its wings, to the underside of the cockpit. 

He scowls up to his astromech, where it’s sticking from the base of the ship, tapping his hand on it’s side, “Wake up, sleepyhead.” The droid just remains offline, its optic dimmed, and Po sighs. 

His TIE had been customised for him in various ways, but the port for the little black astromech, BB-0T, was his favourite addition. 

When he’d first been saddled with the droid, he'd argued with the mechanics. He had felt like the extra weight was unacceptable. But, after just a few missions, he’d realised he actually really liked having the droid around. 

He enjoyed the ritual of loading and unloading it from his ship before and after a flight. It almost made him feel like he really did have something approaching a reliable squadmate. And while it very rarely responded, he would tell himself it was the droid he was speaking to, when he was talking aloud in his ship. 

BB-0T records all the details of his flights for use in crafting simulations, and has been integrated so fully into the controls of the systems of his TIE that, as long as the astromech is offline, his ship is grounded.

And unfortunately for him, one of the many nifty features controlled by BB-0T is his ship's communications array. 

So, unless his droid experiences a spontaneous recovery, Po’s just going to have to find alternative means to send a message that he’s in need of an extraction. 

He turns to look up the shore, to where he’d destroyed the turret. The building wasn't far, what he'd discerned as the command centre. 

And surely a command centre means a comms, even to the rebels. 

He pulls at the latch on his chestplate to release his breathing tube, and takes off his helmet, placing it in the cockpit of his TIE. He’ll have better visibility without it, and he might as well enjoy the taste of planetside air, while he has the chance. 

Po sets off up the bank, scratching idly at his cropped hair, the helmet always leaving him itchy as kriff. 

When he reaches the burning wreckage of the turret he smirks up at the billowing cloud, it really was a marvel, could have probably taken down a whole legion of TIEs.

If Po hadn’t got to it first, of course. 

Suddenly, Po senses someone close behind him, and he drops, kicking out his leg in a crouched sweep. His attacker doesn’t fall, but he loses his balance, sticking out his arms to counter his uneven footing. Leaving himself wide open for Po to launch up, grab two handfuls of his shirt, and use his bodyweight to finally twist the slim man completely off balance, slamming him bodily into the ground. 

He watches the man's face cry out silently as the air is forced from his body, and digs a knee into his sternum for good measure. 

Assessing his attacker, looking for a weapon, Po quickly spots the vibroknife still clutched tightly in his fist. He laughs at the crude choice of weapon, snapping out a hand to wrap his fingers around the man’s wrist tightly. Yanking his arm sharply and twisting until the knife falls into the grass, the man’s hand spasming open reflexively. 

Po takes the knife and disengages the vibration, slipping it into the pocket on the back of his belt, beside where his blaster pistol is clipped, “Thanks. I’ve always wanted one of those.” Shaking hands surge up to try to push him away, but Po just grabs the bony wrists and pins them forcefully to the man’s chest. 

He looks down at his attacker with his lips pursed, “You’re not very nice. Were you gonna stab me?” The man is still winded, gasping breathlessly, his pale eyes gleaming with pure hatred. 

Po can’t help but grin, it’s funny to see such a furious expression in someone so completely at his mercy. “Nexu got your tongue?” He prods, leaning harder on his knee, and the man just flops his head back onto the grass, squeezing his eyes shut, his face going blood red, gasping even harder, still unable to take in even a single breath. 

This is getting old fast, so Po eases off, leaning his weight back onto his other knee. His attacker finally takes in a great, heaving gasp, before lifting his head to look back up at Po again, enraged, panting. 

“You a rebel?” Po asks, although it's pretty obvious, taking into account his aggression toward Po, his short but decidedly non-regulation beard, and his incredibly messy hair. The pretty ginger strands sticking up every which-way. 

Probably wasn’t quite so messy before Po got to him, but still. 

The rebel’s bowed lip pulls back and he finally speaks, haughtily, in an accent surprisingly close to Imperial, “No. I just like spending my time on uninhabited moons in the arse-end of the galaxy, waiting to jump unsuspecting men with a knife.” 

Po's smile widened progressively at every word, until he's laughing aloud by the end. Delighted, he grins down at the snarky rebel, leaning closer, “You the engineer? You build that thing?” He says, excited, gesturing his head toward the remains of the turret. 

The rebels lips thin and he says nothing. Po grins wider, “It sure was some tech. Probably could have done a lot of damage, if I hadn’t-” He smirks and shrugs one shoulder lightly, “You know.”

He watches eagerly as the rebels eyes widen, and then squint suspiciously. _“You’re_ the pilot who did it? I watched it happen, the ship was too close to the explosion, that’s impossible-” He’s suddenly shifting and lurching upward. Po slides easily to his feet, letting him go and backing off, raising his hands with a grin. 

The rebel scrambles up from the ground, turning to face Po, looking at him dubiously, idly rubbing his wrist. 

He's no threat to Po now, not without his knife, and he would have to be a fool to think Po isn't armed. 

“I assure you, it’s possible.” Po purrs proudly, “You saw, huh?” He leans forward grinning, sharp eyes intent on the rebel, “You see the neat trick I did to do it? Cutting the engine?”

The rebel’s face falls open into a look of shock and Po preens, basking in the attention. 

“How the kriff are you _not dead.”_ The rebel growls, angry, after hiding his surprise. 

“Simple. I’m the best pilot in the First Order, possibly even the galaxy.” He announces smugly, “I’ve lost count of the number of sims modelled after my flights.” He pauses, smirking, “It’s a lot.” 

The rebel just looks at him flatly, unimpressed with his bragging, and Po is irritated by the lack of reaction. 

Suddenly, a booming explosion is shaking the ground around them. Po steadies himself, and his eyes dart in the direction of the command centre. A billowing cloud of black smoke is rising into the sky from its general direction. 

The rebel has started running, heading toward the pillar of smoke. Po follows him leisurely, unafraid the man will be able to escape him. 

Not with the possibility of taking a blaster bolt to the leg. 

Once he reaches the building, the rebel lists to and fro for a moment, panicked, looking at the roaring flames pouring from the door. Stepping forward once, before realising there’s nothing he can possibly do to stop it burning to the ground. 

Presumably with all his little Resistance buddies inside.

All around them, something is reflecting the inferno in bright flickers of orange. The wreckage that was Po’s squadmate’s TIE is scattered widely about in the grass, dashed completely to pieces.

There is, of course, no body. The sheer speed of the crash saw to that. 

Po impassively turns from the glittering debris to watch as the rebel sinks to his knees, overcome with despair.

Sitting back on his feet, hands resting limply in his lap, his eyes begin watering. Then he's shuddering with a gasp, tears streaming down his pale face as he sobs- and Po sneers at the sight. 

Before something is shook loose by the image.

“Hang on- _I remember you.”_ Po breathes, staring intently at the crying rebel, “Yeah, this pathetic display is reminding me-” He continues, in abject disbelief. 

Po looks him over, it’s unmistakable now he sees it. 

How did he miss it, with _that pfassking hair?_

He starts slowly, simply astonished, “They've tried _so hard_ to make it seem like you never existed, but _I saw you._ Decades ago, after the battle of Jakku, in that hangar. You were on your knees and _snivelling-_ just like this!” 

Po laughs, stepping in close, shaking the familiar rebel's shoulder roughly, gesturing to his face. The rebel bats his hands away, stands on shaking legs, and immediately backs up a few steps. 

His tears have stopped, but his face is completely drained of blood. 

He’d jerked at the mention of Jakku.

_It must be him._

Po advances on him and grins, “You’re _Armitage_ Hux, the long forgotten son of the great _General_ Hux!” 

Hux the younger flinches sharply, but backlit as he is by the flaming building, his hair is glowing, wild; he still looks fierce, despite all his trembling, despite his slim frame. 

_There's the benefit of coming from good First Order stock,_ Po decides, thinking about the immensely intimidating figure of General Hux himself. 

The traitor confirms his suspicions in a single breath: 

"How could you _possibly_ remember?” 

He sounds disturbed, looks it too, and Po contemplates telling him: 

_Because it was the most infuriating thing I'd ever seen. You, the son of a distinguished officer, crying like that, despite all your pfassking privilege._

Instead, Po ignores him, musing cruelly, “Shall I address you as cadet? Although, it’s been quite a few years, perhaps you’ve gained rank?” Then Po looks at him dourly, chin tilted down, “Maybe not, eh? The rebels like to keep you on a short leash?” 

“I’m not on a leash.” The traitor protests at last, stepping close to him, drawing himself up, trying to use his height advantage to intimidate Po. 

The effect is dampened significantly by his dishevelled appearance. And at this distance, Po can even see his wet eyelashes, the damp streaks left from the tears on his pale face. 

He'd looked more intimidating further away.

Po chuckles humorlessly, “We’re all on a leash.” He says, grave.

He can’t believe it, Armitage Hux, _a rebel._ It’d almost be funny, if it didn’t make Po so mad. What he wouldn’t give to have been the son of an officer, let alone a general. 

His life would have been so much _better._

And this beanpole threw it all away to slum it with the rebels.

Unbelievable. 

He’d been planning on abducting him, even before he knew who he really was. Such a talented engineer would be welcomed very warmly by the First Order. Po had even already decided he'd venture out to the engineering department in a week or so, after his conditioning, to see how he's settling in.

And, of course, being the one to bring such talent into the fold, Po would have gotten some more than welcome kickback. 

A little kudos, maybe even a small promotion. 

But, a talented engineer _and_ Armitage Hux, all rolled into one? It’s almost too good to be true. 

General Hux might even thank him himself, for returning his long lost son.

Po grins his most charming smile, leaning back, tilting his head, trying to make himself look sweet, “Shall we help each other get off of this shithole?” 

He watches Hux swallow, his eyes darting to the inferno that was the command centre. 

Po rambles cheerily, “I assume that was where your comms device was? It’s such a shame it’s currently on fire. You know, I have a comms, which is not on fire - but something’s come a little loose in my astromech so my ship is grounded. Sure would be useful if there was an engineer or something around here, right, _Hux?_ Wouldn’t that be useful? They could fix my droid, send out a little distress call, and I could fly off into the sunset never to be seen again." 

Sticking out his hip, Po rubs at his chin thoughtfully, "Say. You wouldn't have happened to have seen any engineers around here, would you, _Hux?”_

Hux frowns deeply, irritated, “I don’t go by that name.” He snaps. 

“Oh, how rude of me! I haven’t even introduced myself to you at all!” Po laughs, slapping a hand on his forehead.

“You have a name, _trooper?”_ Hux sneers and Po can’t believe he hadn’t seen the likeness from the start. 

He’d mention it, but that disrespect can’t go unchallenged. 

“Yes, I have a name. I told you, I’m the best pilot in the First Order. I _earned_ a name, I didn’t just- get to have one by virtue of my birth.” He grumbles, trying not to let himself get carried away, he still needs to get him to fix BB-0T. “And I’m not a _trooper.”_ He says, disgusted. “My name is Po.”

Hux just smirks, “Po? Did your code start with a P and an O, by any chance?”

Po pretends to smile, offended, “No, it didn’t.” He says, stiffly, “Everybody assumes that, but I actually remember- Before I joined the First Order.” He’s never told anyone this before, but a little honesty couldn’t hurt, he is about to try to completely betray the man. “Before I joined- I remember being called Po.” 

Hux cocks his head, “Before you joined? That’s a funny way of saying: before you were kidnapped.” 

Po scowls, getting sick of his attitude, “Alright, enough- you gonna reciprocate?” Hux looks confused, and Po rolls his eyes, “What _do_ you go by, genius.”

“I’m not going to tell you that,” Hux says sharply, like he’s offended he would even ask, “I don’t want to link my names, just- don’t call me Hux.”

Po smiles, it’s good that he still thinks he will be getting off this planetoid in anything other than the grasp of the First Order. 

Very good, in fact. 

“I can do that- _Armitage.”_ Po purrs, enjoying the way the name rolls off his tongue. 

Armitage rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms, looking every bit as stoic as his father.

Po knows he could very easily just pull his blaster and demand Armitage fix his astromech- but he doesn't want to risk having him pull some kind of nasty engineering trick and explode Po's ship with them both standing in the blast zone. 

He's also eager to see if he can _actually_ manage to manipulate Armitage into doing it willingly. 

He finds the challenge of it nigh irresistible. 

Po gets to work making it seem like fixing BB-0T is Armitage’s only sane option.

"Now I don't know about you, but I'd like to get off of this rock sooner rather than later." Po starts, smiling, 

Then he turns and gestures toward the empty sky, "No one is going to come for me any time soon, and I'm the one from a _real_ military." Po laughs, before turning to ask a question he already knows the answer to, with a smirk, "They gonna send someone for you?" 

He watches as Armitage's eyes dart to the side, as his lips twitch into a small grimace.

"Not for a while, huh?" Po breathes.

Armitage is still silent, but Po can tell he's thinking hard.

Po raises his hands into the air with a sigh and shrugs, "Then, I guess, unless you fix my droid- you'll just be stuck here, with me, until then." Po steps closer, enjoying the frown on Armitage's face, as he continues, excited, "It'll be great! We can live as humble fishermen!" He laughs, "Of course, we might end up killing each other." Then he leans in close and murmurs: 

"That or we'd fuck."

Armitage finally uncrosses his arms to forcefully push him away and Po laughs hard.

"If this is the way you usually try to get people to help you-" Armitage spits, angrily, "You might want to rethink your technique!"

He looks indignant, eyes thunderous, but there's a rosy blush high on his cheeks, and Po thrills to see it. People are much less suspicious of the intentions of those they're attracted to. 

A little mutual infatuation will only make this whole thing easier. 

Maybe he'll even be able to squeeze in a little tryst before Armitage realises he's been deceived. 

Maybe- if everything goes well, they'd even be able to continue, when Armitage is finally back where he belongs. 

Po wets his lips at the thought, that'd certainly help with the loneliness that comes with being the longest serving First Order pilot. He can't imagine Armitage being put _anywhere near_ the front line- 

And Po feels more desperate than ever to get him to fix BB-0T.

Po steps towards him again, intent, Armitage is looking right at him, still furious, still blushing, "I don't think I need to." Po says, flatly, "I don't think I need to _try_ to get you to help me, because a smart guy like you can see there's only one way off of this shithole moon- and it isn't in there." Po gestures to the command centre, where the fire is still raging. 

Armitage looks over at the building, his expression deeply conflicted. 

After a moment of looking at it in silence, his chin begins to wobble, eyes wetting again and Po has to stop himself scoffing at the sight. 

He turns and walks back toward the lake, calling over his shoulder, “When you’re finished feeling sorry for yourself, I really would appreciate your help with my droid. Then we can finally part ways. Not that I haven't _thoroughly_ enjoyed our conversations.” 

He leaves Armitage to stew over his situation. Better to let him come to Po of his own volition, make him feel like he still has some power over the whole thing.

Once Po reaches his ship, he checks over his astromech again, hoping it could have repaired itself. He taps on it, waving a hand in front of its optic, “Po to BB-0T, come in.”

Nothing. 

He sighs at the lack of response. 

Reaching out, he rubs at the mud splattered over BB-0T's chassis, restoring its usual sleek gleam after a few minutes, bending down to splash handfuls of water over his droid. 

"Good as new." He murmurs, for his own benefit.

The mud in the shallows has long since settled from when it was disturbed by his landing, leaving the water clear and reflective. 

He can even see himself in it: a lone dark figure, floating in a pale sky. 

Po stares down at it for a while.

When he eventually turns away to look back to the shore, he sees that Armitage is standing at the edge of the water, watching him warily. 

Po cocks his hip, hand on his belt, “Like what you see?” He flirts, and enjoys the flush it draws from Armitage. He twists his body to the side, flexing, sweeping his arms to gesture over his flight suit, “I guess I'm lucky- black really is my colour.” He purrs. 

_I bet you’d look good in black, too._ He doesn’t say.

Armitage looks at him incredulously, “I'm confused. Are you trying to get me to fix your astromech or trying to get me into your bed?” 

Po smirks at him, raising an eyebrow, and biting his lip, teasing, “You think those things are mutually exclusive?” 

Armitage sputters, blushing even harder, drawing a laugh from Po.

“You are- not what I imagined a First Order pilot being like.” He mutters, hesitating, before wading over. 

“I told you, I’m _the_ best pilot in the First Order. It comes with privileges- namely, they don’t want to risk sending me for reconditioning in case it messes with my mojo.” He explains, proud, “Now, are you going to lend a hand here, friend?” He says, gesturing to his droid, with a smile. 

Armitage passes him silently and comes to a stop before BB-0T, pausing, before turning to face Po. 

“How can I trust you?” He asks. 

_You can’t,_ Po thinks, but, with a hand pressed over his heart, he says, “I promise, you can use my droid to send a message to your little ragtag friends, and then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

Armitage looks at him dubiously, “And why would you do that?”

“Hm, because I’m nice,” Po lies, “I think that it sounds like a fair deal,” Po lies, “And- I think you’re cute.” He says, at last, with a wink.

In response, Armitage only observes him, mutely, his eyes darting back and forth between Po’s own. 

Po keeps his face completely slack, save for his easy smile, as he tries to project a relaxed, calm, and _completely trustworthy_ air. 

“You promise?” Armitage asks, slowly, and Po’s jaw flexes, suppressing a grin at his naivete.

“I promise.” Po lies softly, and with that, Armitage turns and starts fiddling with a hatch on BB-0T’s chassis. 

Po watches him get to work, intently, a wide smile splitting his face. 

Unbelievable.

Eventually, he gets bored of watching and wanders back up the bank, coming to a stop when he finds a flat area a dropship could easily land in. 

He sits down in the grass and enjoys the air for a while, until a comm pings from his chestplate. He looks down at it with a smile, bringing up BB-0T’s warning that an unidentified person is attempting to use it to send a message. 

The droid even sending him a lovely holo of said unidentified person.

He hits decline, and begins recording his own message, attaching the holo for good measure, before sending it off. 

After a few minutes he hears Armitage call out to him, Po just stays put, waiting for him to give up. 

In time, he does. A peek of his ginger hair appearing at the cusp of the bank. 

As he walks over, Po can see his expression is almost pained. 

Po stands, dusting off his flight suit, turning to face Armitage as he reaches him. 

They observe each other for a while, in silence; Po relaxed, Armitage incredibly tense. 

Then Armitage’s eyes are darting between his own again, only this time, Po doesn’t suppress the sly smirk that spreads across his face, and Armitage’s face turns red. 

"You promised me, you karking schutta!" He shouts, furious, clenching his fist and looking down.

Po sticks out his lip, "Awh," He coos, teasing, "You've spent too much time around the rebels!" He laughs, clapping his hand onto a slim shoulder, shaking him, "A promise without leverage is meaningless!" He ducks his head down to try to meet Armitage’s eyes, feeling a little bad, “You of all people should know better.” He murmurs. 

Armitage shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, he’s trembling again. 

Po sighs, angry, "Oh, don't look so sour! They'll send you for reconditioning and everything will be right back to the way it should be." He says bitterly, "You've got nepotism working for you. Don't forget about me when you're back on high, alright, friend?" 

Armitage just shakes his head again, sounding uneasy when he says: 

"You said it yourself, he tried to make it so I never existed." 

Po is about to ask him what exactly he means by that when a dark ship breaks the atmosphere with a screech, hurtling towards the ground. It's big, bigger than the simple dropship he was expecting, and as it comes closer Po identifies it as a command shuttle. 

One of the enormous, fancy ones. 

The shuttle lands a few metres from where they stand, kicking up great clouds of dust. 

When the ramp finally descends with a shrill whirr, it releases a plume of smoke, which curls around the feet of the figure stomping down it, out of the shuttle. 

They're exiting alone, without a single trooper guard. 

Po steps forward, his blood running cold, that is not standard procedure. 

The smoke clears as the dark figure comes closer, and then he can finally see just who has exited the shuttle.

"General Hux, sir!" Po moves to stand at attention by force of habit, he’s alarmed by this surprising turn of events, "I wasn't expecting you to-" 

"That's quite enough, captain." Po's mouth snaps shut as the general waves a dismissive hand in his direction, not even sparing him a glance. 

And he looks on warily, as the father comes to stand before the son. 

Armitage raises his head to meet his father's eyes, and the general's hand immediately snaps forward to backhand him across the face. 

Po flinches, watching as the general takes a tight handful of Armitage’s hair, wrenching his head backwards by it and bearing him to the ground. Armitage's long legs folding in on themselves bonelessly, his knees sinking into the dirt. 

He looks up to his father fearfully, his eyes wide and watering, blood spilling down his chin from where the general has broken his lip. 

His hands raised, hanging in midair, trembling.

General Hux sneers down at him, face twisted with disgust, "The amount of trouble you've caused me, _boy."_ He hisses, shaking the hand he has tightened in Armitage's hair, scragging his head back and forth, "All these years later, and you're _still_ tarnishing my reputation, persistent little whelp. I never should have bothered to take you from that whore of a woman."

"Don't call her-" Armitage finally starts to protest, until General Hux lands his free hand over Armitage’s chin quickly, gripping hard and shoving upwards, bracing against the fist he still has knotted in his hair, forcing his jaw tightly closed with a snap. 

"You will not talk." The general says simply.

And Po is greatly disturbed by the image before him.

From a certain angle, it could almost be misconstrued as that of the merciful father raising the son from where he has been laid low. Lifting him from his failure, with gentle hands of support, cradling his head and caressing his face. 

A steadfast mentor, reaching out to help the pupil find his feet. 

It _could_ be, from a certain angle-

Were it not for the details:

The bright smear of blood over Armitage’s mouth, the strain in his neck, the abject despair in his eyes, the way his fingers cling twisted into the dark sleeve of the hand holding his jaw tight, and the general- looking down upon all of this with an expression so devoid of any warmth it reminds Po of the vacuum of space itself. 

“I never expected to see you again. I had them erase you from existence. Struck from the record.” General Hux says calmly, still gripping tight about Armitage's head, “I could undo it of course, I have the power.” He admits, and Po breathes out shakily, relieved. 

“I could.” The general continues, “But you’re not worth the trouble.” And with that, he finally looks to Po, meeting his eyes cooly, “Do you have your blaster to hand, captain?” He asks.

Po flounders for a moment, at a loss for words, mouth flexing on nothing.

He reaches behind himself to his belt, for his blaster pistol, considering the view before him again. 

"I certainly do, sir.” He says plainly, taking his pistol in hand. 

Then Po is holding it out and watching the general’s eyes widen, almost comically, as he plants a bolt between them. 

The beast crumples, toppling backwards, his hands sliding from Armitage’s face in a false caress, like Po had imagined earlier. 

Armitage stays knelt on the floor, his head still wrenched back, frozen. He doesn’t turn to look at his father’s body, his pale eyes just hold Po’s own, transfixed, confused. 

Po puts his blaster away, looking down at Armitage, cocking his head, “Don’t look so surprised.” He says and turns to regard the command shuttle, "He wouldn’t have let me leave here alive, anyway.” He looks back to Armitage again, reaching out to wipe at the blood on his face, resting his thumb against the side of his chin. 

“I remembered his secret.” 

♢

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Po remembered his own name alright, _but not how to spell it_ because he was but a babe. 
> 
> In this universe, Po was born earlier. Maybe 1 or 2BBY. So he wasn't a toddler in 4ABY and his parents were even busier while he was a young child than they were in canon, very, very unfortunately for him. 
> 
> And you don’t want to know how long it took me to settle on a name for his astromech. I landed on BB-0T (Bee-Bee-Oh-Tee) as it’s alluding to the fact it’s the first BB unit designated for use in a TIE. And I like that it has ROBOT in it :B
> 
> Thought I’d slip in a little reference to all those fantastic ‘stranded together’ fics lol 
> 
> Also, spot my little switcheroo of who exactly says a certain quote? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re reading this and haven’t tried your hand at writing a fic I highly recommend it. It’s amazing, that fic you’ve always wanted to read that doesn’t exist? _You can write it yourself!_


End file.
